𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

06. like, dead, dead.

I take another step back from him, breaking the contact. I don't want him to think I'm fine with him. Because I am not.

"JJ shut up!" The group collectively whisper-yells at him. I don't waste my breath.

"You're gonna wake the freaking dead, man." Pope shakes his head.

"I think the people here aren't the kind of dead you can wake up, they're, like, dead, dead," I observe, mostly talking to myself. I think I've lost the Goddamn plot.

Not deterred, John B walks back over to the door and begins pulling again. Obviously blinded by determination, and a hint of desperation. JJ grabs his shoulder. "Wait, if there's one, there's probably dozens." JJ reminds John B.

The 'we didn't get this far' attitude died with a snake.

"Stop, you're scaring me," Kie says, her tone obviously really freaked out. Not that I'm much different, I'm just pretending to be cool, calm, and collected.

Pope begins telling John B the door's not going to open any further. I move the beam of light emitted from my torch back to the door, and the space. "I—uh, can squeeze through," I tell them, everyone stops talking and looks at me.

I hadn't really thought through my statement, it was more a fact than an offer. But it really sounds like an offer; one I can't really take back, that feels mean.

"What?" John B's eyebrows knit together. "No, no, no, no. You think you're going to fit through the hole?" He asks me.

"Are you calling me fat?" I ask, my head tipping to the side a few degrees, mostly jokingly.

"Wait—no, that's not what I meant." He rushes out.

"It's important to you," I tell him, my tone is blasè when internally I'm anything but. Internally my chest is tightening, and breathing gets a little more difficult. "You deserve to know the truth. So, I'll do it." I state finally.

My palms are sweaty, knees wea—not the time, Frankie.

My hands are actually clammy, though. I walk over to the door. I wipe my free hand on the back of my shorts and grab the dead brush.

Just don't think about it. It's fine. Not a big deal.

JJ walks over quickly, not giving anyone else time to be the one to give me a boost.

Once he gets close to me, facing away from the rest of the group an apologetic looks washes over his face. Lord alone knows if it's genuine. "I'm sorry," he tells me, quiet enough that no one else would hear.

I stare at him, trying—and failing—to figure out if his guilt is all a charade to get into my pants. "You should be," I reply.

With a small nod of acknowledgement, he turns around, putting his back against the rough stone, linking his hands together I gather I'm meant to stand on them. "I'm gonna boost you. All right." He explains needlessly. I did manage to put two and two together. Nevertheless, I give him a small nod of my own. I put my foot in his linked hands. "Ready?" He asks a dumb question, desecrating a gravesite isn't really something I ever thought to prepare for. I just grab the top of the rough stone and begin pulling myself inside.

Don't overthink it. It's not even that big of a deal, she's dead. Very, very dead. I wouldn't care if it was me, it's not like going to be ripping off her hand.

On contact with the rough stone I can feel my skin being scrapped off, I keep shuffling through, trying to ignore the carpet-burn-type feeling. Sweeping my knee up to give myself more leverage I curse myself for not heeding my grandmother's advice and constantly dressing like a Mormon. I'd probably still have some skin left.